Afflictions
by charlesxaviersbitchandiknowit
Summary: 'Tony would have resorted to drinking round about now. Most likely whiskey. Anything to take away the worry. And Steve, with his disapproving looks cast towards Tony, would be taking everything calmly in his stride.'


AN:

_Disclaimer: Not mine. Nope. I wish it was mine though._

**Anyway, this is my first fanfiction in quite a while, so I hope you enjoy :)**

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Peter Parker crouched in an alleyway behind an old Chinese restaurant as he applied pressure to his left shoulder, which at the moment was pumping out a whole lot of blood. Which was kind of bad. Breathing had become a painful labour as it aggravated the angry wound, and caused his mind to draw an unhelpful blank. Blood pounded painfully loud in Peter's ears as the adrenaline rush started to wear off. Panic started to seep in every crevice of Peter's mind. Everything was closing in. He felt terribly claustrophobic in the mask that hid, and protected his identity, and the people that he loved. Peter tore viciously at the mask and flung it to the side where it landed in a dirty puddle crawling with insects. It wasn't important though. He didn't care where it landed. Blood, sweat and tears rolled down his cheeks, dripping onto the tattered remains of his suit. How many times had he had to replace it? Or mend a rip?

_Too many times._

A number of scars littered Peter's body, some just a thin line of pink that were close to fading. Others were fresh; puckered skin, and scabs that had fallen off, which were bleeding again. His chest was barely distinguishable for the black and blue colour it was. It looked as if had gone through one too many rounds with a professional boxer. It wasn't something that was easy to hide.

Taking of the mask had sent a fresh wave of pain through Peter's left shoulder, and it left him reeling as his fingers flew to the wound automatically. It was a mistake pulling his hand back, as a nauseous feeling pooled at the bottom of his stomach. He'd lost a lot of blood, and it looked as if the wound wasn't going to stop bleeding anytime soon. The rusty, decayed smell of blood had made Peter pale considerably, and his already trembling hands were shaking vigorously.

There were plenty of times where Peter had been injured. A lot of times as a matter of fact. His parents just took it for his age. He never really fitted in at school, and Peter had been known to take his anger out on Flash a number of times. Being injured was one of the setbacks that came with protecting a state as large as New York. Uncle Ben's death had been traumatic, but it was a cry for help. He saw a light at the end of a dreary tunnel that he could never leave. Peter took it upon himself to be a saviour. Someone who would put other's life's before his own. Of course, the state police didn't exactly see him that way. Along with the Daily Bugle, they made Spider-Man out to be a menace. A vigilante, they called him. Peter took it upon himself to protect New York from anything petty such as bank robberies to a ginormous crisis that could potentially risk the lives of hundreds, ever thousands.

Peter had fallen from great heights. The webslingers that he invented usually decided to malfunction at the wrong moment.

He'd broken almost all his ribs. At the same time. More than once.

And there was that one time that Skurge had thrown, or better yet slammed Peter into the side of a building. And then proceeded to almost choke him to death.

But the pain in his shoulder was worse than all of those times combined. It wasn't just a little deal that you could over look for a few hours, or even days. It was something that had to be dealt with, otherwise the consequences wouldn't be pretty.

Peter could feel the bullet as it settled against a muscle, twisting further in with every small movement. A feeling of floating crept up on Peter like something he had never felt before, and his head fell against his shoulder as he tried to regain his bearings. It was a moment of confusion, as he forgot where he was and why, and tried to stand up, although his body seemed to disagree, as his knees collapsed under the strain. Falling backwards, Peter hit the brick wall and slid to the ground with a fresh wave of tears in his eyes as his head gave a sickening crack. His eyesight blurred around the edges, seemingly growing darker before returning to normal.

Peter had only ever cried a few times in his life. The first time was when his parents had left him with his Aunt May and Uncle Ben. Sure he loved his Aunt and Uncle, but his parents meant the world to him, and without them, he felt like he was being abandoned. That was when he was five.

He cried when he found out about his parent's death. He cried at not getting to say goodbye to them. He cried over the loss of his best friends. And he cried over not having his parent's at his seventh birthday. It was the first time they had ever missed his birthday.

And now the tears were free flowing, and whimper's ripped through Peter's throat. A part of Peter's mind told him that it was okay to cry. It was a natural part of life. That it was _normal._ He couldn't have been the only superhero to shed a tear. But the _'dark part'_ of his mind whispered bitter truths and taunting jibes. Images of Uncle Ben's body lying cold on the pavement materialised in front of Peter. Uncle Ben's blood on his hands. It was a living nightmare that Peter endured every single day without a single complaint.

Peter had felt a soul-shattering weakness at not being able to save Uncle Ben. If he'd just chased after that store robber like the cashier asked, he wouldn't have had to go home with Ben's blood on his clothes and explain to Aunt May that he wouldn't be coming home. He'd held May's thin frame in his arms as she broke down. It made Peter feel even guiltier.

_Some superhero, _he thought bitterly, wiping ferociously at his tears with his good hand. He threw his head back, hitting it against the wall with more force than was needed. But who cared anyway? What was killing a few brain cells going to do if he was going to bleed to death in the first place?

It was that thought that made Peter think of his parents. A smile fought for dominance on his face as he imagined how worried they would be. Tony would have resorted to drinking round about now. Most likely whiskey. Anything to take away the worry. And Steve, with his disapproving looks cast towards Tony, would be taking everything calmly in his stride. And with those thoughts, Peter sunk back into the wall, and closed his eyes, welcoming the darkness within.


End file.
